


No One Left To Hear

by Thea_Lokidotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Cheating, Death in Childbirth, F/M, Fuck You Robert Baratheon, Honor, House Targaryen, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Kidnapping, M/M, Madness, Multiple Relationships, Oaths & Vows, One Shot, POV Multiple, Personal Canon, R plus L equals J, Robert's Rebellion, Star-crossed, This is My Head Canon, Tourney at Harrenhal, Tower of Joy, Year of the False Spring, death in battle, the battle on the trident, theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 10:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4218012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thea_Lokidotter/pseuds/Thea_Lokidotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows the story. Rhaegar kidnapped and raped the helpless Lyanna Stark. He was then killed on the trident by Robert. Jaime killed the Mad King for personal gain and Lyanna died of her wounds. Except, that's not what happened at all. This is the real story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One Left To Hear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RemnantHeroine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemnantHeroine/gifts).



> I aged up Viserys just so the reasoning behind Rhaegar's hate for Elia was better.

“Rhaegar!” The woman’s voice rang off the stone walls of Maegor’s Holdfast as she called out to the Prince. “Rhaegar, please!”  
The prince ignored her. He had never felt much for his wife and now… He found it easy to pretend she didn’t exist. The only problem was his daughter. He couldn’t ignore her. Elia’s footfalls quickened to a run and she closed her hand around his arm. Rhaegar stop but wouldn’t allow himself to make eye contact, looking over her head instead.  
“Rhaegar,” she said again, as if it was the only word she had. The prince waited, cursing Ser Gerold for sending him to Maegor’s. “I’m so sorry,” Elia started. Rhaegar turned to walk away.  
“Wait! I said I’m sorry! It was a mistake,” Elia gasped. Rhaegar wheeled on her. “A mistake? You mistakenly found yourself in my brother’s bed. And now you tell me you mistakenly got pregnant and don’t know who’s child it is but I will have to say it’s mine regardless, ‘for the sake of the family’. It’s all a big mistake. I’m sorry, Elia but the only reason you aren’t on your way back to Dorne right now is our daughter. I couldn’t take her mother from her. But that is it. As far as I’m concerned, you are no longer my wife.” With that, Rhaegar turned and left her standing, open mouthed.  
Rhaegar knew he was being cruel but he didn’t care in the slightest. He and Elia Martell had been an arranged marriage, out of necessity. An assurance of Dorne’s continued loyalty to the crown. Rhaegar had known what was expected of him and he had complied, willingly at first. Elia was beautiful, frail but beautiful. And she loved him. More then he ever would love her. Over all, they had been happy. And when Rhaenys came along, it seemed they would be a picturesque family. However, Elia was bedridden for months after the princess’ birth. To his credit, Rhaegar never strayed. He stayed by her but it was during this time that he realized that there was nothing about Elia that interested him. He found her mundane and boring and would often travel down to the ruins of Summerhall to get away from her. It was during one of these trips that she stumbled into the wrong Prince’s bedchamber. Viserys, a younger, less handsome version of his brother, who was more then happy to oblige the lonely princess. 

***  
She had tried to tell Rhaegar not to ride in the ranks. He had totally ignored her, as always. He hadn’t acknowledged Elia since he had shouted at her after finding out she was pregnant. Even if they hadn’t been fighting, he still would have ridden, as he was secretly the real host of the tourney. Elia didn’t care if he was mad at her; she still loved him and didn’t want him to get hurt. But he didn’t listen to her. So she sat in fear as he rode tilt after tilt. Despite preferring to spend his time reading, writing poetry and playing his harp, Rhaegar was a formidable warrior when he put his mind to it. And he rose in the ranking, defeating every challenger including four members of the King’s Guard, until just Ser Barristan stood in his way of the champion title.  
Barristan the Bold fell like the others did and Rhaegar was named champion. Elia watched as he rode up to Lord Whent, visor still down, and collected the crown of blue, winter roses. Sudden heat rose in her face. To keep up appearances, he would have to crown her but would he? She had her doubts…  
Elia kept her head down as Rhaegar rode passed her. She could hear the cheering die, Prince Viserys laughing coldly under his breath. She saw her brother Oberyn’s hand tightened on his sword hilt. She laid her hand over his leg to keep him in his seat. Her dark eyes followed Rhaegar as he urged his horse towards the section of seating draped in grey. As Rhaegar wheeled his horse in front of Lord Stark and his family, he lifted his visor. Slowly, the Prince of Dragonstone offered the blue crown to Lyanna, Lord Stark’s daughter. The wolf girl stared at the sliver prince for a moment before accepting the blue flowers. Elia felt her stomach flip. Cupping her hand over her mouth, she fled the stadium and fell to her knees, retching.  
***  
“Fuck the King,” Jaime thought to himself. “Fuck this city, fuck the Queen, fuck my knighthood, and most of all, fuck the gods damn King.” With each word, he took another step, pacing in his shinning new white armor. He had gotten what he wanted, a knighthood and a place in the King’s Guard. But then the King had sent him home. He was not ready for that. He had thought that he would be allowed to stay for the tourney and compete. The Lord Commander had even offered to go back to the city in his place so Jaime would be able to ride in the tilts but the King had insisted. So Jaime had ridden out that night, without even staying for the feast. Because that’s what the King had wanted, and he now lived to serve the King. Fuck.  
Today was the day the King, the Princes and the rest of the King’s Guard came back. Jaime was happy the full King’s Guard was going to be back in the city. He was sick of standing outside the Queen’s rooms, all day, every day. All that Queen Rhaella did was sleep and cry.  
Jaime was standing in the shadows of the courtyard when the royal entourage rode up. Jaime, unsure of what to do, grabbed the reins of the nearest horse to steady it as its rider dismounted.  
“Thank you,” a gravelly voice said as a boot hit the dirt. Jaime looked up in surprise to find himself looking into deep, sad purple eyes. Prince Rhaegar smiled and laughed.  
“Your Grace,” Jaime said as he dropped to one knee and, because he was still holding onto the reining, the horse bowed too. Rhaegar offered Jaime his hand.  
“Please, Ser. Don’t kneel on my account.” Jaime took the hand offered and rose. He was still standing there, dumbstruck, when Ser Arthur Dayne of the King’s Guard shouted for him to come into the Keep. Handing the reins of the Prince’s horse to a stable boy, Jaime followed the other knights.  
Later, when Jaime would be asked about Rhaegar, he would say that the Prince was a great man. An excellent fighter but still with a gentle touch, something many knights lacked. Jaime would talk about how sweet Rhaegar was to children and animals or how fierce he was in the practice yard. He would speck of how fair Rhaegar was to criminals and how kind he was to the poor. He would sometimes even talk about Rhaegar’s plots to overthrow his father because the Prince could see that King Aerys “was poison,” Jaime would quote. And, on rare occasions, Jaime would even say that Rhaegar would have been the best King since Aegon the Conquer.  
What Jaime wouldn’t talk about, however, was how beautiful the Prince was. How his eyes where pools of purple that you could drown in or how his hair looked, framing his face in moonlight or how he looked like an angel when he slept, shirtless and sweaty. These were facts Jaime kept to himself, they where his private memories of the Prince and he would keep them forever.  
***  
Jaime rolled over without opening his eyes. There was someone at the door, and they wouldn’t stop knocking.  
“Rhaegar.” Jaime shook the Prince’s shoulder, trying to wake him. The pounding on the door persisted. “Rhaegar, there’s someone at the door.” Rhaegar mumbled and turned onto his side, throwing one arm over Jaime. For a second Jaime was tempted to let the door go unanswered and curl up against the prince, maybe let his hands wander…  
But then he thought better of it. If Rhaegar didn’t go answer the door, whoever it was would barge in. So Jaime shook Rhaegar again. “Ugh, you get it,” the Prince muttered into the crook of Jaime’s neck.  
“I can’t. Unless you want me answering the door to your bedchambers, half dressed, before the sun comes up.” Rhaegar finally opened his eyes. They were cloudy with sleep but beautiful nonetheless.  
“Fine,” he hissed, standing up. He was pulling the door from the bedroom into the solar open before remembering that he need pants. Grabbing them from where they had been tossed aside the night before, the prince went to get the door.  
Jaime sprawled out in the big bed while Rhaegar snapped at the servant at the door about what time it was. Jaime knew he would have to get out of bed soon, and sneak back into the white tower before anyone noticed he was gone. He knew at least some of his King’s Guard brothers suspected something was going on, so it was best not to let them find out he hadn’t come back last night.  
Jaime was in the process of getting up when Rhaegar walked back. He had an unopened letter in his hands. Jaime, laying back down, reached out to him, wanting the prince to come back to bed so he had a real reason to stay a while longer. Instead, Rhaegar sat on the side of the bed, turning the letter over and over in his hands. Jaime propped himself up with the pillow and ran his fingers over Rhaegar’s side.  
“What’s that?” Jaime asked, still trying to get one more go out of Rhaegar before the start of the day. When he didn’t answer, Jaime sat up, kneeling behind him. “Rhaegar?’  
By now, Rhaegar had opened the letter and read it through. It was less then a page of cursive writing. He crumpled up the paper and tossed it into the fire. He then pulled his legs up onto the bed and faced Jaime.  
“Don’t worry about it.” He ran his hand across Jaime’s cheek then leaned in and kissed him. “Really, don’t worry about it.”  
***  
A few hours later, Rhaegar rode out with two King’s Guard knights. They rode for Harrenhall where they intercepted Lady Lyanna Stark who then disappeared. After stopping on the Isle of Faces, the group of four rode south, to the Prince’s Pass in Dorne. The letter had been from Lyanna, telling Rhaegar she was ready to leave.  
***  
The only sounds in the throne room where the sound of a man burning alive, the unmistakable sound of choking and the King, sitting on the throne, howling with laughter. Jaime stood behind the throne, on the right side, staring in horror as Lord Rickard Stark burned and Brandon Stark struggled against his bonds, tightening the strap around his neck with each movement.  
Rhaegar had left just a few weeks prior. When the Starks found out what had happened to Lyanna, the bullheaded Brandon had ridden to King’s Landing, yelling for Rhaegar to come and face him like a man. What he didn’t know was that the Prince wasn’t in the city. The King had ordered that Brandon and all his company be taken captive for threatening the life of the Crown Prince. He had then demanded that each of their father’s come to beg for his son’s life. Of course, when they all showed up, they were arrested. And now the killings had started.  
Jaime glanced up at Ser Gerold Hightower, standing to the left of the King’s throne. The Lord Commander’s eyes flickered to Jaime and the two shared a look of disgust and horror. The Lords and Ladies of the court all stood as still as possible, trying not to draw the King’s attention as fear of being the next thrown in the flames. Jaime knew they didn’t need to fear, not right now at least. The King was having too much fun watching the Starks struggle and die to pay any attention to anyone else in the room.  
When both Starks were sufficiently dead, the King informed Ser Jon Darry that he wished to go visit the Queen. After glancing with fear in his eyes at the Lord Commander, Ser Jon did as he was told. When the room was cleared and the Silent Sisters were clearing the bodies, Ser Gerold pulled Jaime aside.  
“You swore a vow to guard the king, not to judge him.”  
Jaime knew he was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. So he just nodded. He then went to leave, to writing to Rhaegar, tell him of the atrocities that had happened here. On his way out, he stopped the Silent Sisters who were taking away Brandon Stark’s body, and removed the direwolf pin from his chest.  
***  
Rhaegar felt sick. He knew his father’s mental health was declining since his imprisonment but this… He had never done anything like this before. Sure he had killed people, sometimes in horrible ways. But now, he had gone too far.  
The soft humming from a room over broke the Prince’s train of thought. Lyanna. How was he going to tell Lyanna? Rhaegar stood slowly, running his fingers over the wolf pin that Jaime had sent him.  
“Better she hears it from me then anyone else,” Rhaegar thought. He walked over to her and kissed the top of her head. She laughed. Then she saw the look in his eyes and her laughter stopped.  
***  
Rhaegar paced. The letter in his hand so crumpled, the paper was soft to the touch. Jon Connington, banished? A Hand, high lords, burned? The realm had truly been ‘thrown into chaos” as Jaime had put it.  
“You know what you have to do,” Lyanna’s voice drifted to him. He hadn’t even realized she had walked in.  
“Lyanna,” Rhaegar went to her. His hand fluttered towards her stomach out of instinct. “Should you even be out of bed?” She rolled her eyes.  
“Please. I’m pregnant, not paralyzed.” He had to smile. Her fierceness was one of the reasons he loved her.  
“Do you really think I should go to King’s Landing?” Rhaegar went back to pacing as Lyanna took a seat next to his silver-stringed harp. She nodded.  
“Yes, you do. Without you, there is no hope. Without you, everyone and everything will burn.” His brain knew she was right but his heart wanted her to be wrong. He felt like some silly child, believing the world was like it was in the songs. That the Prince and the Lady could live happily ever after. He had always been too much of a romantic.  
Lyanna reached out for him. He came and knelt before her.  
“I could die.” Lyanna looked away.  
“I know.” She laid her hand over her belly. “I don’t want to think about it, but I do. I wake in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat, thinking of all the ways Robert could kill you. I have tried to think of another option. We could run away even farther, Essos maybe. But then, the Realm would bleed more. I see no other way. I wish it was anything but this, however…”  
She was right. There was no other way. Rhaegar kissed her.  
“I promise this. One day, be it in this world or the next, we will be together again. I love you.” As he was going to tell Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Arthur Dayne that he meant to ride for the capital, he heard behind him, “No matter what happens, I shall follow you soon. Be it to the capital or the grave.”  
***  
“Boy. Leave.”  
The boy who was serving as the Prince’s squire ran at the command. Rhaegar’s voice sounded loud and angry. After the boy had shut the door behind him however, all the angry and energy left Rhaegar in a great sigh. He sat heavily on the side of his bed, looking worn.  
“Rhae- I mean, your Grace?” Jaime faltered, not sure where they stood. Rhaegar looked up, as if he had just remembered that Jaime was there.  
“You know you should really call me Rhaegar,” he said, standing. “Help me into the armour.” Jaime brought each piece of black and red armour, helping the Prince into it as he had for other knights many times before. Before long, Jaime stood in front of the Prince with only the helmet left. It was shaped like a dragon’s head, black with red plumes fanning across the top and along the brow, white horns curving up on either side. Small black wings sprouted from the sides and the part meant for the lower half of the face, nose down, was the dragon’s mouth, all sharp, white fangs interlinked. The helm left only two holes for the eyes.  
Jaime stood there, staring at the helmet. He could feel a pit forming inside him and it seemed to be getting stronger. Rhaegar noticed something was wrong. He stepped up to Jaime. Lifting the knight’s face with one gloved and mailed hand, green eyes met purple ones.  
“Don’t despair. When the battle’s done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago but…” He paused. “Well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return.”  
“Can you promise you will return?” Jaime blurted out. Rhaegar was silent for a long moment, thinking of telling Jaime the same thing he had told Lyanna. He realized that, if he did say it, he would mean it just as much.  
“No, I can not promise that. I will, however, promise to try.” Rhaegar went to his desk, pulling out a stack of letters tied with a string.  
“The top one is for you to read as soon as I leave the city. The rest… Well, there’s instructions in the first letter.” Rhaegar placed the letters on the bed. He slipped his hand into the helm, taking it from Jaime.  
“Everything is going to be different,” he said. Jaime could feel the prick of tears threatening. That made him angry, he didn’t want to cry in front of this man, who he had privately cried over more times then he cared count. In a rush of emotions, Jaime grabbed the back of Rhaegar’s head and kissed him. It was more passionate a kiss then Jaime had ever experienced before or since. It tasted slightly of salt because of the tears that had spilled down his face.  
When they finally parted, Jaime looked down, quickly wiping the tears away.  
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. To his surprise, Rhaegar laughed. A sad laugh.  
“Don’t apologize, Jaime. You have nothing to apologize for,” he said quietly. After a pause he said, “Jaime. Would you… ugh… Will you agree to something?” Jaime nodded.  
“Ser Jaime Lannister,” Rhaegar started, in his battle commander voice. “On the event of my death at the hands of the Rebellion, promise me this. You will take it upon yourself to slay the Mad King, my father. Is this a thing you will swear to?” Kill the king? The very thought shocked Jaime, though he knew it was needed to be done.  
“Yes.” Jaime drew his sword and knelt before Rhaegar. “Ser Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Seven Kingdoms, this is a thing, that which upon the event of your death, I shall slay the King, I do here by swear to you. This is an oath I shall honour even on my dying breath.”  
“Rise Ser,” Rhaegar offered him his hand, just like the first time they met. Jaime stood and this time it was Rhaegar who pulled Jaime into the kiss.  
Later, in the yard, men where mounting up, preparing to ride out. Rhaegar sat on his horse, staring off into the distance. Jaime handed him his helm.  
“Come back,” Jaime whispered. Rhaegar pulled his helmet down over his face so only his eyes showed. Sad, purple eyes.  
“I will do my best,” he whispered back, though he wasn’t sure if Jaime had heard him or not.  
***  
The hit to the chin, which threw the helm, hurt. The hit to the chest was truly excruciating. As Rhaegar lay in the Trident, watching his life swirl out of him in the red water, he whispered a name. He died with it upon his lips.  
***  
“Bring me your father’s head.”  
The King had said that.  
“Slay the Mad King, my father”  
That he had promised Rhaegar. Jaime could feel the tears starting to form. His oath, he had to remember his oath.  
“You swore a vow to guard the king, not to judge him.”  
Ser Gerold had said that. So many thoughts rattled in his head. He felt like his was going to lose his mind.  
“Wild fire. Under the whole city. Let Robert Baratheon be king of ash and bones. Burn them all.”  
No.  
Jaime drew his sword.  
“Slay the Mad King.”  
“Yes, Rhaegar. I will do as you commanded.”  
Blood splattered Jaime’s face; the white cloak he had forgotten to take off was spotted with red.  
“Burn them a…”  
Thirteen steps to the throne.  
Now just to sit and wait. See who comes to claim it.  
Stark.  
Of course it would be Stark.  
***  
The final battle of Robert’s Rebellion was over. Ned Stark stood in a field of death with Howland Reed.  
“I will start to clean up here,” the Crannogman said. “You go to your sister.”  
Ned nodded, running towards the Tower. The Tower of Joy.  
It wasn’t very big but it was tall and Lyanna was at the very top. By the time Ned got to her room, he was breathing hard. The increasing smell of blood and sound of crying didn’t help.  
Ned was panicking, despite to get to the sister he hadn’t seen in over a year. He was so focused he nearly ran into the nurse.  
“Oh, Lord Stark,” she said, as if she had been expecting him. “My Lady is very weak. She’s been asking for you.” The woman paused. “And Prince Rhaegar."  
Ned ignored the last part. He pushed the door open and the smell of blood hit him like a weight. She was laying in a bed in the middle of the room. There was blood all around her. Blood, and blue winter roses. A baby cradle sat off to one side contained the source of the crying noise. Ned went to Lyanna, the nurse to the baby.  
“Lya. It’s me. It’s Ned,” Eddard said as he knelt next to the bed, reaching out and grabbing her hand. “Lya, please.” Ned’s eyes filled with tears.  
Lyanna slowly turned to look at him. Her mouth spread into a weak smile. “Ned. You came to me.”  
Ned felt like laughing and crying all at once. Lyanna was dying, that much was obvious.  
“Nurse,” he called out. “Tell me what happened.” The nurse turned to him.  
“My Lady went into labour early. It was endued by the news of my Prince’s death. I have been trying to stop the bleeding but…” She trailed off. Lyanna tried to laugh but it reduced to coughing.  
“I told him I would follow him to the grave if he died.” Ned stared, horrified, at his sister.  
“Please, Lyanna. Don’t,” Ned was starting to cry. She shushed him.  
“Stop, Ned. I should have dead days ago. There’s no stopping it now. But listen to me. Save my son.” Ned hadn’t even given the baby a second thought until now. “Save him from Robert. You know that if Robert ever finds out that he is Rhaegar’s son, he will try to kill him. My boy. You have to keep him safe. Do whatever you must, just save him.” She stopped to catch her breath. “His name is Jon. He’s a wonderful boy. Very well behaved, just ask Wylla. She’ll tell you. Also, please Ned, put Rhaegar’s harp in my tomb in Winterfell. I want to be close to him, even in death. Ned… The harp and the baby. Promise me you’ll save my baby. Promise me, Ned.”  
“I promise.”  
Lyanna Stark died in Eddard’s arms. He held her for a long while, crying, refusing to let go. It was only when the baby started to cry again that he looked up. He went to the cradle and looked down, expecting a sliver haired Targaryen. Instead, Lya’s son, Jon, had dark hair. A lot of it for a newborn. And while many babies’ eyes are grey, Jon’s were Stark grey. Ned smiled. He wiped the tears from his face and picked up the boy.  
“Jon Targaryen,” he said. “You are named Jon Targaryen. Your mother was Lyanna Stark and your father was Rhaegar Targaryen. While you’ll have to go by Jon Snow, to be safe, never forget who you are.”


End file.
